A Wonderful Christmas-time
by MissSlothy
Summary: There's only one thing Steve wants for Christmas. Notes: I haven't seen season 8 so this story in no way relates to the episode that aired in the US recently. It also features two men kissing so please don't read if that's not your thing. UK-English. Unbetaed.


Steve surveys his living room. He prides himself on having a tidy house. Everything has its place. He's not weird about it (although he's pretty sure Danny would disagree) but years of living in confined spaces with lots of people means tidiness is a hard habit to shake off.

Right now, deep down in brain, there's a voice yelling in rage at the carnage in front of him. Stuffing his hands in his pockets is the only way he can stop himself from getting on his hands and knees to start tidying.

"Sorry." Sliding up beside him, Mary offers him a Longboard. Her expression is apologetic but Steve doesn't miss the laughter in her eyes. "She's a McGarrett. She just kinda fills any space she's in."

The subject of their discussion chooses that moment to come barrelling in from the kitchen. Steve braces himself as Joan spots him, a huge smile lighting up her face. A huge smile that's covered in cake mix, he realises as he sweeps her up and she kisses him. Vanilla cake mix, he confirms, licking his lips.

Joan's chattering madly, only every other word making sense, so Steve just nods in all the right places, grinning at her excitement. At five years old she's developing her own personality: there's a lot of Mary in her. His heart clenches at a sudden memory of a younger Mary at Christmas, sitting with their Mom, wrapping presents for their Dad. It's so vivid, it makes his chest constrict.

"We're making Christmas cake," Mary explains, heading back into the kitchen, oblivious to the memories rolling through his head. "Her royal highness doesn't like fruit so we're going with vanilla. It's gonna be...a different sorta Christmas cake."

"We're making cake," Joannie tugs insistently on his black t shirt, leaving a small white hand print behind. Steve hugs her close, tucking her under his chin. His heart swells with love as she grins up at him toothily. She wiggles impatiently, leaving another white trail of small handprints across his chest. Chuckling he puts her down Grabbing his hand she tows him towards the kitchen, and he follows, sparing his ruined front room one last glance.

The kitchen looks worse than the living room. There's flour everywhere. Eddie's hiding under the table, a guilty expression on his face. There are paw prints on the flour-covered floor - it looks like Joan and Mary have had help with the baking.

"We'll tidy it okay," Mary tells him, a defensive note creeping in as she looks at his face. "It's just flour, Steve." .

Flour that's being trodden into the rest of the house as Eddie pads out of the kitchen, a look of innocence on his face.

With a sigh Steve picks up Joan, perching her on the kitchen worktop. Her bottom lip is wobbling, she looks up uncertainly at the adults in her world. The wave of guilt that hits him is enormous. _It's Christmas for crying out loud_ , _you schmuck._

The voice in his head sounds very like Danny Williams.

Thoughts of Danny unleash another set of emotions. There's fondness, mixed with crushing loneliness, thrown in with a huge dose of pure _want_. They're emotions he's got used to living with, he deals with them every day. But it's Christmas and everything feels so much sharper and raw suddenly. And this year he's been struggling even more.

Steve knows why he's finding it so difficult. Mary's so goddamn happy this year. She's met someone – a firefighter from California – and she's sure he's _the one_. He's visiting for the holidays and Mary's so excited she can barely contain herself. Steve desperately wants his little sister to be right, that her search for love is over. She deserves that and so much more. But it feels like she's teasing him with something he can't have. It feels like his heart is being ripped out of his chest.

"Hey, you okay?"

Cursing silently Steve pulls himself together, plants a smile on his face. "We're good aren't we?" he says to Joan, tickling her until her lip stops wobbling and morphs into a smile instead.

He busies himself keeping Joan entertained but he can still feel Mary watching him. Eventually Joan loses interest and wanders off to find Eddie.

Mary pounces. "You look sad."

"I'm good. Just tired," he replies, fixing a smile on his face in an attempt to head off the argument he knows is coming. "It's been a long year." A long year of medical scares and doctor's appointments and always wondering where the next body blow is coming from. The look on Mary's face suggests she knows exactly what he's thinking. "I'm fine, Mare. I keep telling you, there's nothing to worry—"

"You should tell him." Mary glares at him from across the kitchen, her chin raised defiantly.

"Tell who?" Steve doesn't need to see Mary cross her arms to know it's the wrong thing to say. Way back when, before the liver transplant, he and Mary had got horribly drunk one evening. Mary had been drowning her sorrows about an ex-boyfriend. He'd drowning his sorrows about…he hadn't been sure what about at the time. But at the fifth beer he'd found himself confessing his feelings for Danny. It was the only time they'd ever talked about it. "Don't…"

"Steve—"

He turns his back: there's a note of desperation in Mary's voice that's cutting straight to his heart. "He doesn't feel the same way, okay. Just leave it.

"So you asked him?" Mary's closer, just a couple of steps away. The doubt in her voice is clear. He takes a sharp breath, praying she can't see the way his body's shaking. It feels like he's seconds away from drowning in the swell of emotions trapped in his chest. "Steve!"

"No." He closes his eyes. "I didn't ask him."

Mary wraps her arms around his waist, rests her cheek on his back. It's almost his undoing. "I know you love him," she whispers, into his shirt. "And I know you're scared but you have to tell him…" She drifts off, hugging him closer. Steve lets her, needing her warmth.

"I like things the way they are," he tells her eventually, his eyes still closed against the world. He feels her body tense but It's not a lie, not really. Danny is his anchor. Risking everything, losing him, that would hurt so much more than this.

So much more.

"I'm fine, Mare," he tells her, twisting round and pulling her into a hug, so that he doesn't have to look her in the eye. "I really am."

Mary leans into him, silently. They're both very good at avoiding their emotions, he thinks.

Memories aren't the only legacy their Mom left behind.

Steve's relieved when Mary drops the subject. The days before the holidays pass in a whirlwind of shopping trips and cleaning. The cleaning seems like a wasted effort – Joan and Eddie tag along – but it keeps his mind occupied. And if he feels a little sad after meeting Mary's boyfriend (she's probably right about him being _the one_ ) then it's outweighed by a feeling of hope for the future. The McGarrett family legacy is continuing. It's a time of celebration.

So he celebrates.

He tells himself he's not missing Danny.

He's climbing the walls though in the last few days before Xmas. There're people, and presents and _stuff_ everywhere. The day before Mary had gone on a 'secret' shopping trip: she'd returned with even more boxes and a smug grin. When they'd been kids that grin had spelt trouble. He'd spent the whole evening looking over his shoulder, waiting for the ambush that he was sure was going to come.

Steve doesn't sleep well that night. The bed seems unusually large and empty. So when he wakes at 7am and the house is silent it's a huge relief. Minutes later he's sneaking out of the house in his boardshorts and a tee, a towel tucked under his arm. His mission's almost aborted when Joan shuffles in her sleep as he creeps past her room. He freezes, his ears strained for sound, then he's moving again, taking the stairs two at a time, like a kid sneaking out past curfew.

Running into the sea he allows himself a little whoop of joy.

It's a beautiful morning, the type of morning he'd dreamt of when he'd been serving overseas. He spends longer than normal swimming, going out beyond the small bay. Coming ashore an hour later he drops to the sand, happily exhausted. His body feels like jelly, all signs of tension gone. In its place is the warm, familiar ache of tired muscles.

He feels like himself again.

"Where have you been?"

Steve rolls over onto to his front and regards his sister, one eyebrow raised. It's obvious where he's been, he thinks. The words die on his lips as he catches sight of Mary. Clad in a bathrobe, her hair sleep ruffled, she's wearing a deep, worried frown.

"Danny called, he sounded worried. I told him you were out—"

Steve's up on his feet before he realises it. He pulls on his discarded tee with one short, sharp tug. "What did he say?" he asks, striding for the house. He needs to retrieve his phone.

Mary has to trot to keep up with him. She grabs at his arm to stop him, then grabs again when he keeps on moving. "His phone was out of charge. He said he was at the restaurant—"

He comes to a sudden halt. "The restaurant? What the hell is he doing there?"

"How do I know?," Mary shoots back, sounding affronted. "He said he'd explain when you get there."

Steve processes the information, frowning in turn. "Did he say anything else?" They've agreed codewords to be used in case of an emergency. He starts running through them in his head.

"That was it," Mary insists, rolling her eyes when he scowls. "It's probably just a problem with the plumbing or something."

"At 08:00?" he replies with a huff of disbelief. "This is Danny Williams we're talking about."

Mary stares back at him, exasperated. "I dunno, I didn't ask him." Her eyes flash with panic as he pulls away and jogs towards the house. "Steve! It's not an emergency, okay. Just let me…shit.."

Steve's already blanked her out, focusing on getting to his truck. As he pulls out of his driveway the voice of reason in his head is telling him not to panic, there's a perfectly logical explanation. That idea goes out of the window when Danny's phone goes straight to message. Flooring the accelerator he starts making some phone calls of his own.

He makes to the restaurant in record time. The Camaro's parked out front. There's no one else around but's there a tell-tale tingle of warning down his spine. He gets out of his truck quietly, retrieving his backup gun from the lockbox. He tests the front door, it's unlocked. Slowly he pushes it open. He can barely think for the deafening thudding in his ears. It feels like his heart is going to burst out of his chest.

Danny's standing by the bar, his gun raised and pointing at the door. He doesn't lower it until Steve closes the door behind him. "What the hell? You okay, babe? Grace said it was an emergency—"

Steve stares back at him. Danny looks worried, his hair sticking up all ways, but he's in one piece. "Me?" he blurts stupidly, an overwhelming sense of relief making his mind go blank. "Mary said you'd called. Your phone kept going to message-."

" _My_ phone? Your phone was busy. Grace said you needed help. I thought you were in trouble, you idiot. Do you know what time—"

"Plumbing. Mary said you had trouble with your plumbing."

"My _plumbing_? What the hell does that mean?"

"The kitchen. The plumbing. Mary said…" Steve's brain finally kicks in. He raises his hand for silence. He's still holding his gun – and he's got nowhere to put it because he's still wearing boardshorts. Boardshorts that are still damp and clinging to his legs. Danny's rubbing the bridge of his nose, confusion written over his face. Steve knows just how he feels. "Okay," he says slowly, struggling to get his thoughts in a row. "Mary said you called me."

Danny raises his eyes to meet his. "Grace said you called me." His face twitches with the first inklings of understanding. "And I _know_ I left my phone charging last night. We've been played."

"Played?" Steve gives up trying to find somewhere to holster his gun, putting it on the bar instead. "Why would they do that?"

Danny sighs. "Grace and Mary, they went shopping yesterday. You didn't know that, huh?" he adds, taking in Steve's face. "I knew they were up to something."

Steve shakes his head. He _knew_ he should have said something to Mary. "I still don't get it. What would they…" He trails off as something on one of the tables behind Danny catches his eye. There's two white envelopes, one for each of them: their names are written on the front.

He walks over and retrieves them. He can feel Danny's eyes on his back. A cold chill goes down his spine. Danny's name is written in a familiar scrawl - it's Mary's.

 _She wouldn't do that, would she?_

Danny taps the envelope with Steve's name on it. "That looks like Grace's handwriting." His face settles into a deep scowl.

Before Steve can stop him Danny's taken his envelope out of Steve's hand. There's warning bells going off in Steve's head but he's frozen. Danny's turning the envelope over in his hand.

"Don't."

"Don't what, babe?" Danny's eyebrows are raised in question, his head cocked on one side.

Steve's not surprised: he doesn't recognise his own voice either. He prides himself on keeping his emotions on lockdown. He's not sure when they escaped.

 _They are only envelopes for crying out loud_ , he tells himself. There's no obvious reason why it feels like he's holding a ticking bomb in his hands – except he can suddenly remember very clearly the note of desperation in Mary's voice when they'd talked about Danny. "Don't open it."

Danny studies him, the envelope still twirling in his hand. His expression is open, his eyes are full of warmth. His hair is ruffled, he's wearing a beaten up tee and jeans that have seen better days. This is the Danny that Steve loves, the real man behind the button down shirts and ties.

He loves this man so much that it hurts.

Steve takes a shaky breath and files away the image in his memories. Once Danny opens that envelope all of this will be gone. He squares his shoulders as Danny considers the envelope one more time then tears it open. There's a single sheet of paper folded inside.

"Ah." Danny's mouth pulls down at the ends as he reads it. He reads it again, his eyes tracking the words. With a sharp nod he looks up, catching Steve's eye. "You haven't opened yours," he points out, frowning.

There are disadvantages to being in love with a detective, Steve thinks as Danny studies him. With just one look he can make you reveal all your secrets. "Danny…"

Danny's expression softens, he reaches out, wraps his hand around Steve's. "Open it for me, babe."

The warmth in Danny's voice acts like a security blanket. Steve knows Danny would never let him fall. Whatever happens next, Danny will still be there afterwards. He's not sure how he'd forgotten that. He grabs the envelope and rips it open, in one quick move. With shaky hands he flicks open the letter. It contains just one sentence, in Grace's handwriting:

 _For crying out loud, just kiss him!_

Steve reads it, then reads it again. It seems like such a simple instruction. In his head he can hear Grace (and Mary) yelling it at him. He licks his lips unconsciously, yearning to lean over and touch. It feels like someone's just given him permission to do what he's been dreaming about – but his feet still feel like they're made of lead.

"I'll show you mine, if you show me yours."

Danny's voice breaks into his thoughts. It's got the cheeky tone that Steve's so familiar with, but there's a hint of uncertainty that makes his heart constrict. Looking up his breath catches in his chest. His lips settle into a startled 'O'.

Danny's holding up his piece of paper. Written on it in Mary's handwriting are the words, ' _He loves you'_. The look of rejection he'd expected from Danny isn't there: instead he's wearing an uncertain, wonky grin, his eyes shining with emotion.

Slowly, Steve lifts up his own piece of paper. Danny lets out a huff of laughter and shakes his head. Then suddenly he turns serious. Taking a step forward he holds Steve's gaze and lifts his chin. When his eyes drift close and his lips part slightly, Steve thinks his heart is going to stop.

Danny _wants_ him to kiss him. Steve's brain, however, is still struggling to keep up. "You _really_ want to do this?"

Danny's eyes fly open. The flash of indignant anger in them is the Danny that Steve knows and loves. It seems like the most natural thing in the world to stop the impending argument with a kiss, to curl a hand around Danny's neck and pull him close.

Danny replies with a groan of encouragement, hitching his fingers in the top of Steve's boardshorts and tugging him in. They stumble back towards the bar, letting it hold them upright as they deepen their kiss.

Danny tastes of mint toothpaste. His skin smells of musk. Steve chases the scent, dotting kisses across his stubble-covered chin. Planting a kiss on the soft skin under Danny's jawline, Steve's body responds when Danny swears under his breath. Steve goes back for another kiss, softly nipping at the skin with his teeth. Danny nudges his leg between his, encouraging him. Steve widens his stance, letting Danny in.

Steve's suddenly very much aware of how his boardshorts are clinging to his skin.

When Danny's hand slides up under his tee, it's Steve's turn to swear out loud. He's imagined this moment so many times, but the reality is something else. Danny's fingertips are slightly rough against his skin, they're dragging, intensifying the sensation.

Danny's solid under his hands, steady, just like he always is. But now Steve can feel his heart beating, the way his breath is catching in his chest. It's so intimate it takes Steve's breath away. Closing his eyes against the sudden onslaught of emotions he dips in for another kiss.

"Mornin'."

Surprised, they spring apart, their hands going for their non-existent holsters. Lou's standing in the doorway. His face splits into a huge grin as he sketches them a little wave.

They stare back at him. Then Steve's brain kicks in, overriding his libido. There's a reason Lou's standing there. "Shit."

Danny cocks one eyebrow at him. "What did you do?"

"I may have made some calls on the way over here," he confesses, suddenly very interested in the floor. "I was worried about you!" he adds defensively as Danny takes a deep breath.

"You're a putz, do you know that? A giant putz who needs to-"

Steve doesn't find out what he needs to do: they're interrupted when Tani appears in the doorway, out of breath. "You okay, boss? Danny called—"

"We're good," Danny jumps in, hands raised. "We're all good."

" _I'm_ a putz?" Steve shoots back indignantly.

"Yeah, they're just fine," Lou drawls, his smile growing even bigger.

Tani still looks uncertain. "Umm, guys…that's great… but you might want to tell that to the SWAT team. Their truck was right behind me."

Steve feels his cheeks colouring as three pairs of eyes turn in his direction. Danny shakes his head sadly. The look in his eyes promises trouble for Steve later on. Steve grins back: he's looking forward to being told off.

"Don't worry, we got it," Lou says before Danny can say anything else. Herding Tani out of the door he winks at them before closing the door.

There's silence for a moment. Then Danny leans over for another kiss. And another. "Did you know Grace and Mary are taking the kids to see Father Christmas today?" he asks when they come up for air.

"So that means—"

"—my house is empty right now? Yup," Danny confirms with a huge grin. "What's the odds on that, huh?"

"Amazing," Steve agrees, going in for another kiss. All he wants to do is _touch._ Every time their skin makes contact it sends a wave of heat down his spine. He needs Danny in a bed. Right _now._

Eventually they pull apart long enough to put everything straight again in the restaurant. A quick peak out of the front window reassures them that their unintended audience has left. Arms entwined each other's waists' they head out of the door.

One of the neighbouring restaurants is setting up for breakfast. The sound of Christmas music carries in the air. Steve finds himself humming, a feeling of contentment enveloping him.

It really is going to be a wonderful Christmas-time.

The End.


End file.
